Tracey on the other end of life’s alley had worked his fingers to the bones, he had tried all till he was blue in the face, money had burnt a hole in his pocket, and life had snarled and snapped at his heel, yet the pillory of shame locked him up while guilt of iron stock had closed his mind; life, in its strolling pace and sonorous scherzo had taught Tracey the ‘Erwin Schrödinger’s equation’ free of charge.

Tracey had always heard that there is love in sharing, but that was gibberish to the dogs’ ears in this dearth season, they won’t even share ordinary bones with Tracey. Also, those dirty pigs, eehhn, announced at their fashion parade which Tracey attended that though he can see their food—husks, they are not sober to tell him that no matter how large his tongue salivates, their husk won’t touch his mouth nor get down his throat.

At this juncture, Tracey’s brain kick-started a ‘restore factory setting’, his mind began to send instructive charges through his members, he kept uninstalling defunct files, deleting items in the recycle bin, defragmenting and consolidating related folders, gradually he began to see himself in the light of his father’s insightful words, he began to reflect on how he had always thought highly of himself, strutting across stages of history like a don, living high in seemingly impregnable rocks, acting like king in the mountain, like eagle in its aerie.

‘Oh, wait a minute!’, Tracey said to himself, but one of my father’s servants has a dozen folk staying up in his house, yet he feeds each of them 4-square meal and they all attend one of the best schools in the state, I can still remember that he was at the verge of completing his 30-room apartment before this my dull mind instructed my dreary legs to come here.

Tracey said to himself, ‘today, and in fact now, is the time to double up, climb and arise to met my father. Atleast, it will be far better to die in my father’s house than in a strange land, I know that right now, my worth is next to valueless, I am not just sure if I can stand shoulder to shoulder with the butterflies that dance in sweet fragrance of my father’s mansion.’ But how eccentrically thoughtless I have become, my heart is without form and my mind is void, my imaginations have bounced off the tangents like biogas off the septic tank.

He quickly rehearsed some 27 words to say to his father. It’s better kept short and simple. If he can’t win his father’s hands, he might win 1 strand of hair on his body.

Tracey found his return ticket, at once and with the only cloth remaining on him, he dashed back to his country and trekked another 21 days to get to his father’s house. While he was 50 km away, the servants sighted him and informed the man.

Mercy’s cute hands immediately elongated and his never-heavy legs became really swift, his outstretched hands reaching beyond 5000km just to bring Tracey into the sphere of his embrace as his bowels beat the drums of joy.

As Tracey started reciting his rehearsed 27 words, when he got to 20, Mercy interrupted and said, ‘Tracey, don’t bother with the remaining 7 words because 7 means perfection, and with love I have perfected the arrangements and logistics for your homecoming, I understand that you have been abused and refused; dejected, rejected and ejected; though your mess is large, your message will be larger and the messiah within you is largest.’

Hey guys, festoon my precious runaway son with the best robe and circle his hands with golden rings, let him wear the shoes specially made of terrazzo and lion’s skin.

Mercy said to Tracey, ‘Always Come. Sit down. Let’s argue this out.” This is my constant Word: “If your sins are blood-red, they’ll be snow-white. If they’re red like crimson, they’ll be like wool. If you’ll willingly obey, you’ll feast like kings. With Midas touched of excellence, Mercy touched Tracey’s mouth and said, ‘Look! I’ve just put my words in your mouth–hand-delivered!

See what I’ve done? I’ve given you a job to do among nations and governments–a red-letter day! Your job is to pull up and tear down, take apart and demolish, and then start over, climbing, building and planting.”

PS: My dear Reader, no matter how far you have gone, there is a GAHGA (God at hand, God afar) that I know, he is my Muse, closer to you than your breath and He is Mercy himself, Jesus is knocking the door of your heart today. Welcome him and feast as kings.

Keep CLIMB (Changing Little Into MegaBucks) Alive.
Cheers! And much Love.

One thought on “MERCY’S MiDaS ToUcH 2

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